The Celtic Riddle

"He disappeared for about a year, ran away to sea. He came to hate his father, almost as much as he hated himself. I thought I'd never see him again, but after Mick died, shortly after that, a bitter man, Eamon came back, married Margaret, who'd been his sweetheart before all this happened, and set up here in the Dingle. He asked me to come and look after his household, and I did. Denny joined me a few years later. I met Brigid's father here, and little Brigid, long after I thought I could be so happy, and have made this place my home. I felt sorry for Eamon, you know, and he wasn't a bad man. I liked looking after his daughters, even though I couldn't see what he'd found to like in Margaret, and sometimes late in the evening, when his wife had retired, he'd ask me to sit by the fire in his room, the red one, and he'd talk to me about Rose. He had loved her, you know. And in his own way he had tried to do the best for her. When his mother was dying-he was just a little tyke and Rose just a toddler-she made him promise he'd take care of his little sister, never do anything to hurt her. And I suppose he tried. I think he thought he had broken a sacred promise to his mother." She paused for a moment. "Do you know what a geis is?" The word sounded like gaysh. I shook my head.

"It is sort of like a tabu. In the old stories, people are held to a geis: there is something they mustn't do, or perhaps something they must do without fail, an obligation if you see what I mean, and if they did it, or forgot to, as the case may be, broke the geis, that is, it usually meant their death. Eamon Byrne thought he had broken a geis, in hurting his sister. He was good to us, though, wasn't he, Brigid? He gave us the money for Brigid to start up the tearoom, and my son-in-law the pub." Brigid nodded. "And he did try to look for Rose's baby. I know he did. But the authorities said that there was no way to do this, that he wasn't the father, and in any event, the name would be revealed only if the child wished it. Died in his prime, did Eamon. He can't have been sixty. And I know he would have wished to find the child before he died.

"Strange, though," she went on. "About Deirdriu and Naisiu, I mean. In this story, the tragic one was Rose. It's Owen's sister who's called Deirdre."

I could see Kitty was tiring, and Brigid was begging me with her eyes to go. "I'll leave," I said, "And thank you."

"Thank you for listening," she said. "I feel better for telling you."

As I turned to go, I asked one more question. "The baby," I said. "Was it?"

"A little boy," Kitty said. "Rose said it was a beautiful, healthy little boy."

Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it wasn't. There must be at least a million Deirdres in Ireland, and Deirdre had had a rather spinsterish way about her, the look of a woman never married, but one can never assume too much. "Was Deirdre Flood ever married, do you know?" I asked Rob.

"I believe she was," he replied. "And do you know her maiden name?" "I think I saw it on the file, but I don't think I can recall it. Why?"

"I don't suppose it was Mac Roth. Deirdre Mac Roth."

"I think perhaps it was."

So Deirdre Flood was the hidden Mac Roth in the Byrne household, the poison asp in the fruit basket, the bald face of revenge behind the mask of servitude.

"How ever would you know that?" Rob said, watching my face.

I told him. "So you're saying you think this blood feud is still going on, and that a Mac Roth, Deirdre, insinuated herself into the Byrne household… to do what?" Rob said. "She had ample opportunity, surely, over the five years she's been there, to do whatever she wanted. Are you saying she murdered Michael? Why?"

"I don't know what I'm saying," I replied. "Probably not that she killed Michael. Is there any indication she killed herself?"

"No. It looks as if she was strangled first, then hrown into the sea. The autopsy will tell us for sure, t's nigh on impossible to strangle yourself, and while he could have thrown herself over a cliff, she could ardly have done both. My guess is she was strangled rst. There'll likely be no water in the lungs."

"Well, what if it was Owen? What if he's given up looking for the child and has turned his attention to taking revenge on the Byrne family?"

"And to exact this revenge, he kills the hired help? One of whom is his sister, I might add? Are you trying tosay that having to do your own housework is puntment enough? Surely not!"

I glared at him. These policemen with their gallows humor. "I'd still like to know where Owen Mac Rothbeen for the last thirty-five years," I muttered.

Rob just looked at me. "I'll check it out," he said at last.

"Please do," I said. I didn't care how ridiculous it sounded. My money was on Owen Mac Roth.

Chapter Sixteen. THE PLACE WHERE THE SUN SETS

ABOUT Owen Mac Roth," Rob said the next day. "He spent twenty-five of the last thirty years in jail. Joined the IRA and bombed somebody, got caught, and got a life sentence."